Liam Turner
Oct 16 • 6 min read
When I booked my Vietnam City and Island Escape with The Peace Destinations, I honestly didn’t know what to expect. I’d seen the postcard shots – rice terraces, lantern-lit streets, turquoise beaches – but I wanted more than pictures. I wanted an experience that would wake me up a little. Twelve nights across Saigon, Phu Quoc, and Hanoi felt like a promise of chaos, calm, and culture all rolled into one.
Day 1–3: Saigon – The City That Never Rests
Landing in Ho Chi Minh City, or Saigon as the locals still call it, was like stepping into a warm rush of sound, scent, and colour. The air buzzed with motorbikes, street vendors, and the hum of a city that doesn’t believe in silence. I checked into my hotel and, despite being jet-lagged, couldn’t resist heading straight out.ontradiction — modern skyscrapers standing beside centuries-old temples, monks walking calmly past neon-lit markets, and the scent of jasmine floating through the humid air. From the window of our room, we could see the city’s skyline stretching endlessly — shimmering in the evening light.
My first stop was Ben Thanh Market, a sensory overload of sizzling food stalls, fabric shops, and the smell of roasted coffee beans. I tried my first bánh mì – crusty bread stuffed with grilled pork, pickled veg, and coriander – for about a pound. It was perfection.
The next morning, I walked through District 1, past the Notre-Dame Cathedral Basilica and the Central Post Office, their French architecture a quiet reminder of Vietnam’s colonial past. What fascinated me most, though, was how the old and new existed side by side – one moment you’re standing before a Gothic church, and the next you’re dodging scooters outside a bubble tea café.
Later, I joined a small group tour to the Mekong Delta. The river stretched wide and lazy under the sun, and as our boat glided through narrow canals lined with palms, I couldn’t help but feel I’d travelled back in time. Locals sold coconuts and handmade sweets from tiny wooden boats. One woman handed me a slice of fresh jackfruit and smiled like she’d been waiting for me all day.
That night, I sat on a rooftop bar with a cold Saigon Special beer, looking out over the city lights. Saigon doesn’t slow down – it just hums at a rhythm you learn to move with.
Day 4–8: Phu Quoc – The Island That Feels Like a Secret
Leaving the noise behind, I caught a short flight to Phu Quoc Island – and honestly, it felt like stepping into another world. The moment I arrived, the air changed. It smelled of salt and flowers, and even the light felt softer.
My hotel was tucked away near Long Beach, surrounded by palm trees that swayed lazily in the breeze. The first evening, I walked barefoot along the shore as the sky turned gold and pink. The water was so clear it looked lit from within. I didn’t talk to anyone. I didn’t need to.
The next few days were a blur of island life – snorkelling off Fingernail Island, visiting a fish sauce factory (the smell still haunts me), and renting a scooter to explore the backroads. I stopped at roadside cafés where no one spoke much English, but every plate of pho or seafood fried rice came with a smile and a wave that said everything.
One afternoon, I joined a small boat trip to explore the southern islands. We anchored near a reef, and I jumped into the water with my snorkel gear. Beneath the surface, the world was silent and colourful – schools of tiny fish, coral gardens, and sunlight slicing through the water. I floated there for a long time, just breathing through my mask and feeling still.
That evening, I watched the sunset from a beach bar, my feet in the sand, local musicians playing guitar under fairy lights. A man next to me – an Australian expat who’d moved to the island years ago – said, “Phu Quoc has a way of keeping people.” I believed him.
By the fifth day, I’d slowed down completely. My mornings were coffee and mango by the pool. My afternoons were hammocks and paperback novels. Sometimes, travel isn’t about doing everything – it’s about giving yourself permission to do nothing at all.
Day 9–12: Hanoi – Where History Meets Heartbeat
My final stop was Hanoi, and it hit me differently than Saigon. Where Saigon is modern and loud, Hanoi feels older, wiser, like a city with a thousand stories whispered through its narrow streets.
The first morning, I walked around Hoan Kiem Lake at sunrise. Locals were already out doing tai chi, couples chatting on benches, vendors selling hot noodles. The air was cool and calm, with a kind of peace that only comes at dawn.
I wandered through the Old Quarter, where the streets are named after the goods once sold there – Silk Street, Paper Street, Silver Street. I got lost more than once, but that’s the best way to see Hanoi. I found myself sipping egg coffee (a creamy, sweet invention that tastes way better than it sounds) in a tiny café overlooking the chaos below.
That evening, I joined a local guide for a street food tour, and it turned out to be one of my favourite experiences of the trip. We weaved through markets and back alleys, stopping to try grilled pork skewers, rice pancakes, and sweet sticky rice desserts. I met travellers from Germany, Japan, and Canada – all of us strangers at the start of the night, laughing like old friends by the end.
On my last full day, I visited the Temple of Literature, a peaceful complex filled with courtyards, trees, and ancient stone tablets. I sat for a while, listening to the sound of wind in the leaves. Vietnam had shown me so many sides – noise and stillness, energy and grace – and it all made sense in that quiet moment.
That evening, I joined a day trip to Ha Long Bay. Nothing really prepares you for the sight of those limestone cliffs rising out of emerald water. It’s one of those places that looks too perfect to be real. As the boat drifted between the rocks, the sun began to dip, turning everything gold. I stood at the bow, salt on my skin, wind in my hair, and thought – this is exactly why I travel.
Reflections on the Journey
Vietnam surprised me. I expected beauty, but I didn’t expect the rhythm – the way life moves here, fast and slow all at once. Saigon taught me energy. Phu Quoc taught me peace. Hanoi taught me perspective.
It’s strange – I went there to see new places, but I came back seeing myself a little differently. Somewhere between the chaos of a Saigon street and the calm of a Phu Quoc sunset, I realised that travel isn’t about escaping your life. It’s about expanding it.
Would I go back? In a heartbeat. Maybe next time I’ll take the night train from Hanoi to Sapa, or trek through the rice terraces in the north. But this trip – this first taste of Vietnam – will always stay with me.
And when people ask me what it was like, I just smile and say: it’s a place that gets under your skin – in the best way.
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